T H E PAT H O F
FINN O C c O L M SALLY PRUE
Illustrated by Brendan Kearney
For Dad
CONTENTS
Chapter One
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Chapter Two 21 Chapter Three 33 Chapter Four 49 Chapter Five 61
CHAPTER ONE
172
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BALLYCASTLE
172
If you go to Northern Ireland, and you catch the 172 bus to Ballycastle, then you’ll get to one of the very strangest places in the world. There by the sea you’ll find the Giant’s Causeway. And you’ll hardly be able to believe your eyes at the sight of it.
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A great wide path of black stones, it is, all cut with straight sides to them, and fitting together as snug as a honeycomb. And where does the path go? It goes straight out from the shore and down under the waves of the Irish Sea. Now, you’ll be wondering why anyone should build a path that doesn’t go anywhere. But if you have a boat, and you feel like an adventure, you can sail across the
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sea to Staffa in Scotland – and there you’ll find the other end of the path coming up out on to the land again. And each stone is so heavy that there’s never been any man alive strong enough to lift it. Now, this is the story of how the path was made, and why most of the stones are under the sea. So that now you need a boat to get to Scotland. It happened long ago, in the times when there were giants and Little Folk living in Ireland.
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Now, the giants were good people. They were very handy if you wanted your house moved so you had a better view, or so you could put a river between you and your relations. In fact, the giants gave little trouble except for one terrible big, boasting fellow who was called Finn McCool. Finn McCool was sixteen metres and two centimetres tall, and the Little Folk were always having to run for their lives when he came clumping along, not looking where he was going.
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Now, this giant was lucky enough to have a wife and a baby. The baby was a sweet child, not much more than five metres long, and luckily taking after its mother. Finn’s wife was called Oona, and the only silly thing she’d ever done in her life was to marry Finn McCool. Many was the time the Little Folk would come knocking at her door, complaining because Finn had knocked bits off their houses with his great clumsy feet, or spoiled their music with
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his singing, which sounded like the north wind with bellyache. And then Oona, who was a kind, sensible woman, would bake them a cake the size of a dance floor to cheer them up – and she would tell Finn to watch where he was going. Now, there came a day when the Little Folk had visitors from Scotland, so they decided to hold a party to celebrate. “Now, you stay away,” said Oona to Finn. “They won’t want you
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trampling about with your great big feet. Go to the forest and pull up some trees for the fire.” Well, Finn didn’t like being told what to do, even though ignoring Oona was always a sure way to get into trouble. “No one’s stopping me going to the party,” he said to himself. “I’ll show them what dancing should really look like!” The thump-thump-thump of the Little Folk’s band could be heard
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halfway to Scotland, and all the seagulls were sitting with their wings pulled up over their ears, but Finn hopped along in a fine mood. He stood up on the hill above the place where the Little Folk were having their party. And he began to dance.
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